Change of Plan
by Jaywalker
Summary: A hunter demon means Angel is unhappy with Cordelia's plans for the evening.


Disclaimer: Joss and David and all the other important people own Angel and Cordy. I don't.

Just another fic exploring Cordy and Angel's early friendship. I am really enjoying writing these and thanks to all who have reviewed so kindly! I am working nights so apologies if fic gets a little sleepy in places but at 4am, I'm just not up to much else!

Here's the part where I get pathetic and needy and beg for feedback, good, bad or indifferent. 

Timeline : Set before Heroes.

****

Change of Plan.

With a grimace, Cordelia dipped her newly manicured fingernails into the overflowing desk drawer and gingerly eased her hand through an assortment of used ink-jets, old pens, paper punchers and long buried notepads. Making a mental note to spring clean the office, Cordelia dug a little deeper until half of her arm disappeared into the brimming drawer. A smile of slow satisfaction spread across the girl's face as her fingers brushed against the object of her hunt, tugging it free from an imprisoning stapler. 

"Gotcha," the nineteen-year old murmured triumphantly, pulling the small compact mirror into the dim light of the Angel Investigations office. She grabbed a tissue to dust a greasy film from its surface, her eyes wandering the length of her desk, finally falling upon "The Chronicles of Fear demons."

"You" Cordelia informed the text as lifting it, she propped it against her computer screen, placing the mirror on top. She tilted backwards and positioned her hands in front of her, her eyes scanning her fingernails for any potential damage from their expedition into the drawer. Satisfied that they had survived intact, Cordelia moved closer to the small mirror, one hand lifting her mascara, the other steadying her employer's book. 

With a small cracked mirror as the only judge of her appearance, Cordelia figured less was more so she applied the mascara cautiously, even strokes coating her eyelashes, accentuating hazel eyes, deepening her face. She moved her head from side to side, examining her handiwork, anxious thoughts forcing a closer inspection. Girls in L.A. always seemed so effortlessly beautiful, Pierce had his choice of any of them, what if he thought she was too small town, what if…

The sudden sharp ringing of the phone startled Cordelia from her reverie, her hand jerking outward in reflexive surprise, the mascara brush sweeping the length of page two hundred and seventy three of the ancient text in front of her, the text Angel had acquired only two weeks previously. She watched in dismay as the mascara streaked its way across the prophecies of Amaya and instinctively her hand jumped forward to smooth the page clean, the action inevitably smudging the make up into the yellowing paper. 

"Oh God" Cordelia moaned in pained desperation as she watched the words of the prophecy disappear under Clinique Extra Curl, "Oh God, oh God, oh God." 

She stared at the page in tormented disbelief as she stretched her hand out toward the telephone. Cordelia lifted the receiver shakily, her eyes never leaving the spoiled page. 

"Angel Investigations" she said in a dull monotone, "We help the hopeless." 

"Cordelia?" Relief sounded in her fellow associates voice, "You're all right?"

"Figuratively speaking." Cordelia squinted at the blotted passage, as she scratched at the offending mascara, her fingernail darkening with the movement. Maybe she could work out most of the text, translate it for Angel…

"Cordelia?" Concern dug its way into Doyle's tone, "Are you or aren't you?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Fine," she answered impatiently, momentarily distracted from her ministrations to the fourteenth century book. "I'm just fine." A frown buckled her features. "Why? You didn't have a vision did you? Where a slight literary mishap results in my untimely and incredibly agonising death?"

"What? No" Doyle answered with equal impatience, "Look Cordy, lock up and get yourself downstairs all right? Angel should be there any minute now, he has his own keys so just get yourself down to the apartment." 

"Doyle" Cordelia indulged the Irishman, her crime forgotten as her fingers intertwined through the phone wire, "My date with the stocks and share guy remember? You wouldn't be trying to make me late, would you?"

There was a considered silence at the other end of the phoneline. "Lets consider that a bonus" Doyle's humour was brief for his tone grew serious within his next breath. "Cordelia, please just do what I say all right? Angel will be really pissed if you…"

A movement pulled Cordelia's attention to the half-open doorway of Angel Investigations. A black garbed figure stepped inside, an axe dangling in his hand. 

"Angel's here now," she informed Doyle as she casually snapped the 'Chronicles of Fear-demons' shut, and in one deft movement slid it downward, squashing it into the packed desk drawer. "Angel's here now," she repeated with plastic nonchalance. Her tone earned her a querulous look from her employer as he tossed the axe across Doyle's desk and moved toward her own.

He motioned at the phone. "That Doyle?"

"Uh huh" Cordelia handed the receiver to Angel and pushed the desk drawer firmly shut. 

__

No point in telling him what's happened, while there's a big scary axe right beside him. Besides I can't keep Pierce waiting.

Only half listening to Angel quiz Doyle about some demon or another, Cordelia absentmindedly trailed a hand across the surface of her desk, dropping mascara and lip-liner into her bag. Stealing a glance at the vampire beside her, Cordelia sneaked a hand toward the plastic slide-drawer beside her computer. Flipping it open, she flicked through the cards filed there, pausing on the one she required. Fake id. She reached for it with subtle haste. Not subtle enough. A restraining hand clamped itself around her wrist and forcing a wide-eyed expression of indignant innocence onto her face, Cordelia twisted her head upward to look at Angel. Still immersed in his conversation with Doyle, the vampire didn't spare her a glance but merely maintained his locking hold on her wrist. 

"All right. Lay low tonight. He could show up, so be careful."

Doyle evidently assured his friend of his intentions to be exactly that, for Angel seemed content with his reply. Satisfied that one employee was safe, Angel replaced the receiver and turned to his youngest associate.

"Hello?" Cordelia indicated to her wrist with a sharp nod, "Those of us who have blood circulating around our bodies kind of like it that way."

Angel dropped her hand and watched as she cradled it with what he knew was exaggerated discomfort, Cordelia's acting skills weren't improving. He turned and walked toward the door of the office, senses heightened. Angel turned the lock and faced the vexatious teenager behind him.

"We've been through this already. That id is for work purposes only. You don't get to use it to get into bars or clubs."

__

She could probably get into most places without being carded, Angel reflected to himself, annoyed by the very idea. Cordelia looked older than her nineteen years and a life lived in all too frequent peril had left her with a quiet maturity, her youthful innocence stolen by knowledge of petrifying darkness. All of which made Angel glad of the age requirement for the consumption of alcohol. Without it, he mused wryly, half of the Scooby gang would most likely have been raving alcoholics by now. He had expressed such sentiments to Cordelia in past battles about use of her fake id and on each occasion, she had been unsurprisingly unimpressed with his arguments. Eventually, Angel insisted the card remained in the office and despite being the target of many barbed comments about bullying chauvinistic vampires who barely knew about the freedoms of nineteenth century society, let alone the twentieth, he hadn't swayed. 

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest but Angel shook his head with quiet determination. 

"Not up for discussion Cordelia." He turned his attention toward the bloodied axe and pulling out a bag of cleaning utensils, attacked it energetically.

"God" Cordelia threw her hands in the air, "This overprotective vamp thing is getting really tiresome Angel. I'm sure bad vamp wants to come out to play sometimes and encourage innocent young girls toward lives of drunken decadence. Let me be his first victim and I promise I won't have more than two glasses of wine on my date."

"Date?" Angel looked up from the axe, noticing for the first time that Cordelia was attired in a pretty light blue dress. Definitely a date dress. The vampire groaned inwardly as he rose to his feet, anticipating an argument of mammoth proportions. 

"Well duh," Cordelia glanced down at the dress before raising an irritated gaze toward him. Mild worry settled in her hazel eyes. "Don't I look like date girl?"

Angel flung an awkward arm outward. "Sure you do. You look great, really you do. That dress." His eyes trailed the length of her slim body before returning to her face, and he watched as her appeased expression shifting to one of suspicion as she caught a hint of something she didn't like in his gaze.

"What?" she asked warily.

Angel's face contorted into a regretful grimace. "You can't go."

Cordelia looked at him questioningly. "Can't go where?" she echoed. He watched as realisation glinted dangerously in her eyes. 

"No" she said with deep conviction. Cordelia picked up her bag and tugged it over her shoulder, her frame tightening with grim determination. She walked around her desk, her eyes fixed on the door and freedom beyond. All that was standing between her and Pierce was a grumpy old vampire and she was damned if he would stop her. 

Angel sighed as he side-stepped in front of her, directly blocking her path. "Cordelia" he began reasonably.

She smiled with ominous sweetness. "Angel," she said pleasantly, "I am going to meet my date now, so please be a nice vampire and step aside."

Angel placed a restrictive hand upon her shoulder, quickly removing it as her expression grew menacing.

"I can't. You can't. The demon Doyle and I went after is a hunter. We lost him and it's profile suggests that it will come after us and anyone close to us."

  
"I won't be close to you," Cordelia interrupted, "I'll be in an exclusive Italian restaurant in a city suburb. Nowhere near at all."

"That's not what I meant." Angel tried again. "Close to us as in personally, not proximity."

"Touched and all as I am by your expressions of affection, I am still going. Goodnight, sleep tight and don't let your hunter demon bite." Cordelia moved aside, her move already anticipated by the vampire.

"Angel" she warned, eyes flashing.

"Cordelia" his tone softened and he stepped back, hoping to somehow belay reasonableness. With Cordelia, impatience was always his downfall. "I am sorry. But I can't have you going out there. I can't have you going home. Doyle is laying low and you'll have to stay here tonight." He raised a hand as Cordelia opened her mouth to protest. Angel pushed meaningful steadfastness into his voice. "I'm not being overprotective or unnecessarily careful, this demon is dangerous and there's no way I'm risking letting you out there while he's on our tail."

Cordelia's face fell as she recognised both the resolve in his eyes and truth of his words. She slumped her shoulders in resigned disappointment.

"You're absolutely positive this demon isn't barred from suburb Italian restaurants?" 

Angel smiled. "Fairly certain."

His young associate hung her head. "I hate my job" she muttered, as she turned to head toward his office. Angel caught her wrist lightly. 

"I am sorry, I'll take care of this guy and you know maybe your date can go ahead tomorrow night."

"Yeah" Cordelia answered glumly as she stepped out of his grasp "Or maybe Pierce will just decide that I really am not worth the effort."

Angel frowned as Cordelia walked into his office to cancel her evening plans. "Damn fool if he does," the vampire muttered to himself as he watched her pick up the phone, her tone one of light apology as she spoke to Pierce, whoever he was. Cordelia had an amazing talent for surrounding herself with superficial people. Most of her friends irritated the hell out of Angel, and in a roundabout way, worried him. Despite her confident exterior, there was an endearing vulnerability about the girl. Cordelia worried about her small town origins in L.A. and she quietly sought validation and approval from Serena and the other girls. Serena, Angel shook his head with mild distaste, he really could not bring himself to like that girl. By the sounds of it, Cordelia's taste in men wasn't much better than her taste in friends. Making a mental note to give Pierce the once over sometime soon, Angel called into the despondent girl perched on his desk.

"I'll make you an Italian." 

That raised a smile and shrugging her shoulders, Cordelia pushed herself from the desk. "I still hate my job and by association you and Doyle," she warned him as she walked toward the elevator, "But food is always good."

The pair enjoyed the meal, Angel as much as he could enjoy food, Cordelia savouring every bite. 

"You know Angel, if you ever give up the soul saving thing, cooking is definitely the way to go."

"Lunch hours might be a problem" Angel commented wryly as he lifted her plate.

"Are you kidding me? We could set up a dark restaurant theme, all the whackos would love it." Cordelia's eyes widened and she wagged a knowing finger at him. "Know what? Loads of vamps and demons would be attracted to a place like that. We could do a lunch time special, blood pie or something, pack the place out and blow it up or something. Save Doyle a load of visions." 

"Yeah, I think getting waitresses for a place like that might be a problem." Angel lifted her plate and carried it to the counter.

"Too true" Cordelia said regretfully, her finger tracing the outline of her glass. 

A quiet calm descended upon the kitchen. Angel enjoyed the solitude of silence and had been surprised to find there were times when Cordelia was unusually contemplative. Cordelia sometimes wandered down to his apartment and bully him to cook for her. Afterwards the pair often sat in companionable quietness Angel perhaps immersed in a book, Cordelia stretched out on his sofa, lost in deep thought. 

Angel turned to her curiously and spoke an old silent question. "What are you thinking about?"

Her head jerked up, and she smiled self-consciously. "Nothing, I just…" Her voice trailed off and she raised serious eyes to meet his own. 

"I was thinking about home." There was a quiet pain in her voice, a wrenching ache in her eyes.

Angel nodded his head in slow understanding. Cordelia rarely spoke about her homelife but from drifting whispers of fraught phone conversations she had with her mother, he gathered all was not well. 

"How is everyone at home?" He inwardly winced, the words sounded artificial, awkward. 

Cordelia's expression tightened a little. "Fine" she said with a hint of defensive pride, "They are fine" 

Angel nodded again. He dipped his head a little so that he pulled her eyes to his own. He paused, unsure of how to proceed. Cordelia barely mentioned her parents and when she did, it was generally about the past. He didn't want to intrude on the present. And yet, he didn't want her to dwell there alone.

"You sure?" he probed carefully.

She smiled wistfully, her eyes dropping to the half-filled glass of orange juice in her hand. "Yeah" her voice was low. "I mean no, of course but there's no point in talking about it is there?"

"Does there have to be a point?" Angel asked quietly, turning to lean against the counter, his gaze resting gently upon her. 

"I guess not" Cordelia shrugged. She lifted her eyes. "You know, tonnes of people have it way worse than me, you know. They have lost people, or have someone really sick. I'm lucky. It's just that…"

"What?"

She frowned a little. "It's hard to realise that your parents are human. That they are people too. That they mess up and can't be what you want them to be for you, or for each other." She looked at him bashfully, "Know what I mean?"

Angel grinned suddenly as he took a seat opposite her, affectionate memories of battles with his father springing to mind. Pain-free memories before the battles turned increasingly cruel, before Liam's death. "You'd be surprised." 

Cordelia's expression brightened. "Don't worry, I'm not going to be angst girl telling you about my family's bad times all night."

Angel leaned back in his seat. "So don't, just tell me about the good times."

They swapped stories for well over an hour, Cordelia entertaining Angel with tales of her eccentric relatives. Angel enjoyed her refreshing insight into the superficialities of the world from which she hailed,

"Like hello, Angel, they made the poor maid roll the sausage rolls at specific angles. Four hundred of them, can you imagine? I helped her with the first hundred or so but Mom needed me inside to entertain Mr Parker, this disgusting leech of a man. Of course I had to stand there and let him grope me, he was one of Daddy's main clients."

Angel listened and found that he really hadn't known Cordelia at all in Sunnydale. He hadn't wanted to, he realised with quiet acceptance, he had only wanted to know one. Ever.

For his part, Angel astounded Cordelia with his tales of old Irish customs.

"And women were considered tramps for just walking into the pub? Geez, talk about

cavemen ways."

The pair chatted together until finally a lull fell upon them.

Angel rested his arms on the table. "You can, you know"

Cordelia looked at him questioningly. "Can what?"

"Tell me about the bad times too. Sometime. Whenever you want" Angel shifted awkwardly, "I just mean, you know, you can."

He feared he had overstepped the mark, for she leaned back to regard him thoughtfully. 

"I know" she answered with a quiet smile. Characteristic mischief entered her tone. "You and I can just bitch about life somenight. We'll bash everyone, parents, Buffy, Xander, everyone is getting it…" sudden ringing of the phone interrupted Cordelia's rant. 

"I'll get it" she murmured, dabbing the side of her mouth with her napkin. She lifted the receiver and tugged it back to the table with her.

"Hello?"

"Cordelia?" Doyle's voice was filled with amusement, "Date cancelled you?"

Cordelia scowled at the phone. "That may be a common occurrence for you Doyle but not for me." She glanced at the vampire opposite as she lied, "Angel asked me to help research the demon you so miserably failed to kill earlier and I graciously obliged. Pierce and I are going out on Friday night instead."

"Angel asked you? Don't you mean he threatened to chain you to your desk rather than let you out with a Fanthos demon on the loose?"

Cordelia exhaled in annoyance. "Is there a point to this call?"

"Sure princess," Doyle soothed, "Tell Angel I killed the Fanthos."

"You did?" Cordelia straightened in surprise.

"Don't sound so shocked" Doyle answered indignantly, "I happen to be very adept in the demon killing department. The fact that the Fanthos was stupid enough to come looking for me with a big gash from Angel's axe already in his side is purely coincidental."

  
"Sure" Cordelia agreed mockingly.

"Look, ask Angel to go find the burial ritual."

"Ehem?"

"Please"

"That's more like it" Cordelia put a hand on the receiver. "Hunter demon caught up with Doyle, he killed him and wants to know how to bury him."

Angel rose to his feet, "Doyle's okay?"

Cordelia smiled sheepishly, "Right." She pulled her hand back. "You are okay aren't you?"

"Tell Angel, thanks for asking" Doyle's aggrieved tone floated back. 

Cordelia nodded to Angel, and the vampire, content that his friend was safe, made his way upstairs. 

"Guess you can still make your date princess, its still early" The Irish brogue carried a hint of regret.

Cordelia glanced at her watch. Doyle was right, she still had time. Her eyes drifted toward the dessert Angel had prepared. She wouldn't feel right, just leaving because the demon was out of the picture. More to the point, she didn't want to go. She was having fun right here. 

__

Okay, it really is sad when you prefer hanging out with your dead vamp friend than a hottie stockmarket guy.

Well then, I'll just be sad tonight.

"I don't know, I'm kinda tired. Here's Angel now."

Angel descended the stairs slowly, his eyes scanning the passage on Fanthos burial. 

"It's still okay if I stay tonight right?" 

His eyes rested on Cordelia's questioning face. "Sure it is" he told her with a sincerity he enjoyed feeling as he nodded toward the black forest gateaux "I even used low calorie cream so you can have as much as you like."

He took the phone, ignoring Cordelia's grumbling about low fat cream really being extra fat cream because she ate three times as much as she would if it were full fat cream.

"Doyle, you all right?"

"Yeah man. Just tell me how to deal with this burying thing. There's an party on three doors down and I've got a brand new shirt to impress the ladies."

"Right" Angel responded wryly with an inward mental shudder at the thoughts of some of Doyle's shirts. "Burial is simple, incant a Varia chant and the body will dissipate."

"Great" Doyle answered eagerly "Nice easy dissipation, you sure?"

"Mmm" Angel answered and something in his tone dragged Cordelia's attention to his face. He lifted a dangerous eyebrow and Cordelia's mind raced. 

What was he looking so antsy about? Her heart dipped a little. He didn't….

Angel deliberately darkened his expression. He was going to enjoy this.

"At least that's what I could make out through the strange fourteenth century illustration. Doyle did you know they had mascara back then?"


End file.
